


Mixed Media (Flesh, Electricity, Bone)

by wittylittleknitter



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), X Company (TV)
Genre: Dragon Bonding, Dragons in a universe that does not have them, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:26:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittylittleknitter/pseuds/wittylittleknitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his team hears that Alfred doesn't have a dragon, they're all shocked/horrified and decide that this is a thing that needs to be rectified <em>immediately</em>.</p><p>Alfred's still scared to tell them no, but in this case that might not be the worst thing.</p><p>(Title from Team The Best Team by Doom Tree)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mixed Media (Flesh, Electricity, Bone)

**Author's Note:**

> X Company is about a team of five WWII era spies (Aurora, Tom, Harry, Neil, and Alfred) trained in Canada's Camp X. Alfred has synesthesia, and because of it he also has an eidetic memory.
> 
> How To Train Your Dragon is a movie about dragons, basically. Googling any of the dragon species names (I think the only ones mentioned are Deadly Nadder, Monstrous Nightmare, Thunderdrum, Changewing, and Terrible Terror) will show you what those dragons look like.
> 
> This work is a gift to my friend Tessa, who requested of me "dragons, but in a fandom that does not have them". I hope 1600-odd words is enough!

“You'll be fine!” Aurora laughs, pushing you towards the door.

You _know_ that this is a horrible, terrible idea, you know exactly what is going to happen when you go through that door. And yet, you still can't bring yourself to tell them no.

(You're still scared they won't like you anymore, won't keep you on the team, will leave you behind by accident, or maybe on purpose, make it look like an accident, nobody has to know—)

The door clicks shut behind you, Aurora and her Monstrous Nightmare safe on the other side.

Seventy dragons turn to face you—but only 139 eyes, huh—and you can't help but stare.

You breathe in, breathe out, try to stay calm, they aren't going to hurt you—

As you've (almost) come to expect, your mind doesn't listen.

_You're nine and a quarter, going on a field trip to a dragon sanctuary with your homeschool group (your father's hand is bitter orange and sweaty where it lays on your shoulder, holding you in place) and at Miss-Prescott-the-dragon-handler's insistence you step out from your father's grasp and up to the nearest dragon (a pinkish-orange Deadly Nadder) with your hand outstretched (let the dragon come to you, just like you were told) and the dragon and its big eyes (friendly and full of curiosity) are about to touch you but those big eyes are narrow and hostile and it starts snarling, you scream and your father (directly behind you)_ roars—

“Alfred!” Harry, while not actually entering the room (on pain of a threatening look from his Nadder) is using the opened door to make as much noise as he can.

You're grateful for that, at least.

***

They're all staring at you.

“You don't have a dragon?” Harry repeats. “Like, not at all?”

You shake your head (you're fourteen and a third, the only time you were ever in a proper classroom, feeling alone and judged as you watch all the other kids play with their dragons) and look away.

“Oh, my god,” says Tom, hand settling on his Changewing's back.

“That's awful,” says Krystina-from-Communications, four of her Terrible Terrors clinging to her uniform.

Neil doesn't say anything, his Thunderdrum butting against his chest insistently.

“Alfred,” Aurora and her dragon are the only ones who aren't reacting the way you've come to expect. “Alfred, would you like a dragon?”

You don't think you have the words to articulate the particular set of emotions-colours-smells you have on the matter, so instead you give a sort of non-committal shrug.

“I'll see if I can pull some strings,” Krystina smiles briefly before bustling out, Terrors in tow. Dit and Dah give a farewell squawk from their positions on other dragons before flying after her.

(You're still scared to tell them no.)

***

“Doing okay, Alfred?” Neil asks through the doorway. Behind him, Harry is being preened by his Nadder. (The dragons won't let them through the door. Nobody's really sure why.)

You shake your head, trying (and mostly failing) to breathe evenly.

“Okay, five things you can see. Go.” Neil prompts.

“Cinnamon preening Harry. Eighteen windows, close to but not quite floor to ceiling. You, and Yinglong sneaking up behind you. Aurora stroking Charlemagne's snout. Her dragon, not the king of the Franks 768-814, of the Lombards 774-814, and Emperor and Augustus of the Holy Roman Empire 800-814, nor the suburb of Montreal. Seventy dragons with 139 total eyes. Twenty-three potted plants.” You breath in and out, slowly.

“Need to keep going?” He asks. The nearest few dragons make sympathetic sounding noises.

After a certain length of time without you saying anything, Neil shrugs and tells you it couldn't hurt to do one or two more.

You hear Neil speaking, flowing water somewhere you can't see, the happy “k-k-k-k” noise Cinnamon makes when she's happy, and the breathing of the dragons curious enough about you to come closer. You smell petrichor and dragons and fresh cut grass. You feel the texture of the uniform's fabric under your hands, and the slightly springy ground beneath your boots. You taste the inside of your mouth (acrid and olive green.)

Somewhere in that time, Tom and his dragon Delilah joined the small crowd outside the dragon room. They're not unwelcome, you suppose, though you don't really want an audience.

“Jesus, Alfred, you look like hell.” Tom pokes his head through the doorway. Delilah wraps her tail around him and yanks him back. “What, did Aurora have to drag you through the door?”

“Not quite, it was more of a shoving action.” Harry calls. Aurora is carefully neutral, but you can see the tension in her cheeks that means she's holding back a smile.

The dragons are still a cautious distance away, but the most curious ones are starting to creep closer.

“You good?” Neil asks.

“Am I ever really good?” You ask the room as a whole. Four concerned faces look back at you through the doorway. “That... that was supposed to be a joke.” You add lamely. (You are _never_ trying to be funny again.)

“Oh.” Your friends visibly relax. (You hope they're your friends.) They're crowding around the doorway, their anxious dragons tugging at their clothes to draw them away. Aurora pats her Nightmare's head absently.

The dragons are just out of arm's reach, now, heads cocked curiously.

“Now, Alfred, do you have any idea how to do this?” Aurora calls over, pushing Charlemagne's head out of the way for a better view. (The aforementioned dragon huffs haughtily and ambles further back.)

You stare at her blankly.

“...No, then.” She concedes. “Well, don't worry, we can talk you through it. Right, guys?”

With a sharp kick to Harry's shin, he and the other boys nod and throw out some “yeah”s and “of course”s, even a “what are friends for?” which makes your heart ache warm and blue for this team of yours.

***

“Yeah, okay, there we go, now just a jump to the left—”

“No, no, no, a step to the right!”

“Put your hands on your hips or something, Alfred, I can't see what's happening, your arm's in the way—”

“Shh, guys, you'll scare the draons!” Aurora chides, gently pushing her teammates out of the way so she was in the front again. “You're doing great, Alfred, don't worry about them. Next step is to sit down just out of reach. _Slowly_ , Alfred, you're trying _not_ to startle them!”

You look over your shoulder, and the team  gives you a collective thumb's up. You settle into the grass, dragons just out of arm's reach. You stare at them.

46 pairs of curious eyes stare back.

“Alfred, you look stiff as a board, there,” Neil notes. You breathe in, slowly, then shrug when it looks like none of the dragons will startle if you make a sudden-ish move. (A Terrible Terror startles anyway.)

“He really does, doesn't he?” Harry's voice floats over from where Cinnamon's got him by the back of his jacket, after he had gotten too close to the doorway for the Nadder's liking.

“I don't think that's helping,” Aurora sighs. (As usual, she's right.) You snort out a laugh. “Now, don't look at the dragons when they're getting close, you might scare them off...”

Soon enough, you have a Terror nesting in your hair, another on your lap, and a few others nosing at your back, your sides, your arms...

“Feel any... connection to any one in particular? Tom prompts for the third time in as many minutes. You shake your head carefully.

They're really quite gentle, these dragons. They're very careful to keep sharp teeth and talons away from clothing and other, less replaceable tissue, nosing at you gently.

The idea of taking one as a companion is beginning to look appealing, even.

So, of course, there has to be a powerful roar to shatter the calm.

The dragons around you scatter.

It seems to come out of nowhere. Someone screams. (It might be you, you're not sure.)

Electricity crackles in front of you. You can't see anything but a dark, leathery  _thing_ at your front and sides.

The texture is subtly different in front of you, more ridged than at the sides, and when you follow it up with your eyes, you see the most fearsome looking dragon you've ever seen. (Though, really, you haven't actually seen all that many dragons, so this one could just be average.)

It blinks down at you, and stops snarling.

Everyone is dead silent.

Your breathing shakes.

“Alfred?” calls Harry. “Doin' okay in there?”

“I can see this dragon, the ceiling, my hands, the pot from a potted tree, and the wallpaper on the walls.” You mutter to yourself, instead of responding to Harry.

The dragon makes a curious noise.

“Have you been eaten yet?” Tom asks.

“No...” you laugh shakily. “No, I'm okay!” You call out, a little louder.

The dragon leans forward to sniff at your chest. It takes a long breath in, holds it for a moment (maybe processing the information? Dragons get a lot of information from scent, after all) then exhales in your face.

It lowers its head to about your eye level, closing its eyes. After sixteen seconds of you just sitting there, frozen in place, it opens its eyes to stare at your hand expectantly. Shakily, you raise your hand, but don't touch the dragon.

_Let the dragon come to you_ , says Miss-Prescott-the-dragon-handler at the sanctuary you visited when you were nine and a quarter, in your memory.

The dragon touches his nose to your palm. You close your eyes as well.

Your team cheers when you emerge from between your dragon's wings, standing up together. Their dragons cheer as well, in the slightly off-kilter way that dragons do.

Your dragon straightens pridefully, and lets loose a shower of electric sparks over your head.

“This is Edison,” you tell your friends, stepping out through the doorway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, Alfred has found himself with a  Skrill.  
> If anything else needs clearing up, please let me know!


End file.
